In Defense of Fairyland
by 13-Red-Cards
Summary: Upon waking from a hundred-year sleep, a princess finds herself in the company of a deranged young man who insists on convincing her that fairy tales are true. For his part, the young man can't quite fathom how a cursed princess can be such a realist. A retelling of Sleeping Beauty.
1. Prologue

**Prologue:**

Eternal sleep wasn't nearly as bad as it sounded. No one is self-aware when they sleep – Princess Elspeth had no idea how long she had lain within that deserted castle. She only knew dream after dream after dream – with the occasional nightmare mixed in, of course.

That was the only drawback of eternal sleep. Nightmares are infinitely more terrifying when there's no waking up from them. Elspeth just had to press on until the nightmare faded away into something more pleasant. She couldn't just wake up, sweating and panting, when the monsters of the darkest recesses of her imagination finally caught up to her and did their worst. She had to endure, let them tear her apart completely, until her mind couldn't bear it anymore and forced the demons to become angels.

Fortunately, nightmares were few and far between. For the most part, Elspeth knew only pleasant dreams. She got married at least a hundred times during her eternal sleep – never to someone whose face was clearly defined. The groom's features were always blurry. Still, Elspeth was always certain of two things: firstly, that he was a prince; secondly, that he was astonishingly handsome.

Sometimes memories crept into her dreams. She dreamt that she was a child again, and that her mother was telling her fairy tales before bed. "Would you like to hear about the frog prince?" her mother would ask. "Or perhaps the princess in the tower?"

"Are these stories real?" young Elspeth would ask. "I want them to be real!"

A shadow would cross her mother's face as she replied, "No, Elspeth. None of these fairy tales are true."

"So there are no witches?"

"No witches."

"No curses?"

"No curses."

"But princesses are real."

"Well, _you_ are real, so I suppose princesses must be real, too!" her mother would exclaim in mock surprise as Elspeth dissolved into a fit of giggles.

That memory would fade to be replaced by another dream – or nightmare. She would dream that she was back in the palace classroom as her tutor drilled her on history, natural science, mathematics, geography, ancient languages, and countless other subjects for which she had no aptitude. Ancient languages had always been her forte, but most other subjects, in her own words, "drained her soul."

Sometimes, she dreamt that she suddenly acquired a genius for mathematics, and she flummoxed her poor tutor by devising new equations beyond his comprehension. Very often, she dreamt that she failed exam after exam. Failing was no issue – after all, she was a princess – but she hated to see the disappointment on her tutor's face. Such dreams of failure were more painful that one might expect.

On occasion, she dreamt of her future as queen of the realm. She saw herself leading the army into battle against the superstitious nations of the south. She saw herself arbitrating disputes with infallible wisdom and penetrating insight. In very few dreams did she fail or even struggle as a ruler. Her imagined future was one of prosperity and spectacular success.

She would have enjoyed sleeping eternally. It was not such a terrible fate. Yet it was not her fate, after all. In the middle of a rather ordinary dream, she suddenly felt an unaccustomed pressure against her lips. This was not the sort of kiss that occurred during her wedding dreams; this was much more real. And when her eyes opened and she found herself face to face with a dark-haired young man, she realized just how real it was – and just how unreal her eternal sleep had been.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:**

"Who in God's name are you?" the princess demanded, practically catapulting out of her bed to face her potential assailant.

Cormac immediately took several steps backward. Despite her soft appearance (and rather soft lips), this young woman was downright threatening. "I come as a friend," he said quickly.

"You were far too close to me when I awoke," the princess said in a rather accusing voice. She crossed her arms defensively in front of her chest.

"There's a reason for that," Cormac replied. "I'm afraid I had to kiss you to wake you up."

Elspeth stared blankly at him for several moments before bellowing, " _Guards!_ "

"No one will come," Cormac informed her, taking yet another step backward in case she decided to attack him herself. He backed himself into one of the tapestries hanging against the wall, and a cloud of dust rose up to envelop him. "The guards are all gone. You and I are the only people here."

"That's not possible."

"I'm afraid it is."

"Where have they gone?"

"They're long dead."

" _Dead?_ " she repeated incredulously. "How is that possible?" For the first time, she took a proper look at her surroundings. Her once opulent chamber was now coated in dust. It had clearly been neglected for some time. "So we were attacked. That's the only possible explanation. Or perhaps there was a coup. Either way, why wasn't I aware of this?"

"You've been asleep for years," Cormac cautiously told her. He didn't bother to correct her assumptions; there would be plenty of time for that later.

"Were they drugging me?" Elspeth mused. "That must be it. I can think of a few ways they might have done it…"

"Your Highness, you were under a curse."

"Yes, they subdued me with their foul drugs," she continued, completely ignoring him. She had begun pacing back and forth. Small puffs of dust arose whenever her foot touched the carpet. "Probably caused severe amnesia. I know that's possible; we discussed it in my science lessons." Now she looked up at Cormac. "So, where are they now? My father has been warned, hasn't he? They can't have taken the capital, as well. Or are you one of them?" She talked quickly and without ever pausing for breath.

"I am not one of them," he hastily assured her. "My name is Cormac, and I was sent here by a friend."

"And who might that be?"

"Sir Mortimer Chisholm the Third."

At this, Elspeth merely laughed. "Sir Mortimer Chisholm the _Second_ has only recently learned to walk. I was present at his birth. I presume his father sent you?"

"No, Your Highness," Cormac persisted. "Sir Mortimer the _Third_ sent me to wake you." Perhaps it was time to tell her everything. "His grandfather, your father's captain of the guards, is long dead. So is his father. Sir Mortimer the Third is an old man himself."

"You are talking complete nonsense," Elspeth sniffed. "I'm shocked that Sir Mortimer would send such a… _delayed_ young man to rescue me." She suddenly paused, and her face flooded with horror. "I'm sorry. That was terribly rude. Mother always warned me that I shouldn't say such things before really knowing a person; perhaps you're not as challenged as you seem."

Cormac barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. "It couldn't be helped. I was the only one willing to come."

"Are my people so disloyal?"

"Not exactly." Cormac glanced at the doorway. "Your Highness, we should be on our way. It will take some time to find our way through the thorns."

"What are you talking about?"

"The castle is surrounded by a forest of thorns. Come, follow me." He gestured for her to accompany him. Not knowing what else to do, she acquiesced without protest.

As they made their way down the winding staircase that led to Elspeth's tower chamber, she asked once again, "Cormac, what did you mean when you said that only you were willing to come?"

Pausing, Cormac looked up at her with a sorrowful expression. "Most believed you were long dead. You've passed into legend."

"What do you mean by that?"

Taking a deep breath, the young man slowly informed her, "You've been asleep for one hundred years. It was a wicked fairy's curse that did it. The curse should have killed you, but the fairy spared your life for your father's kingdom."

Elspeth was staring at him like he was the greatest idiot to ever utter a single word. Nevertheless he continued. "Like I said, this was one hundred years ago. Only Sir Mortimer remembered the curse. No one else believes in curses."

"Of course they don't," Elspeth broke in. "My father always worked to eliminate all such superstitions among his people."

"He did it to protect you, but those beliefs were never just superstitions. All those fairy tale stories were true. It's just that no one believes them anymore. Not even Sir Mortimer the Third believed, until he saw it with his own eyes. He would have come to rescue you himself, but he was already too old. He had to find someone to do it for him."

"And I suppose he found you," Elspeth remarked.

"Yes exactly."

"Hm." She obviously thought Cormac was a lunatic, but she was far too well-bred to say so. "This is all very interesting and, to be honest, rather upsetting. Why don't you help me make my way to the capital, and we'll see what's really going on?" She spoke in a gentle, patronizing voice as she gestured for the young man to continue down the stairwell.

"I'm not daft," he muttered mutinously as they continued on their way.

"Certainly not," she replied, though her tone was still painfully infantilizing.

They reached the bottom of the stairs, which opened up into a long corridor. Tapestries filled the walls, depicting the history of the realm. "I assume you are a foreigner?" Elspeth said as they passed by the visual record of countless legendary battles.

"What makes you say that?" Cormac asked.

"You're rather dark," she said bluntly. "Perhaps not as dark as some, but still…"

"I was raised here," he curtly replied.

"How interesting." She paused briefly before asking, "You do have provisions enough for both of us, don't you?"

"Yes, don't worry. Sir Mortimer supplied me with everything I could possibly need." This princess was far too inquisitive. And condescending.

"Tell me again why he chose _you?_ "

Her superior tone was absolutely infuriating. "You're not going to believe me."

"Nevertheless."

"Many men had tried before me, but you can't pass through the thorns unless you know who controls them. You have to _understand_ the thorns," he explained as they emerged into the great hall of the castle.

"What in God's name does that mean?"

Cormac braced himself for her ridicule. "You can't pass through unless you understand how the fairies grew the thorns."

From behind him, he heard Elspeth mutter "dear God" under her breath. "It would be very helpful if you believed me," he said to her. "The passage back through the thorns will be hard enough without your skepticism."

"Tell me, Cormac, do you have many friends?" she asked. He could hear the laughter in her voice.

"Enough that I don't need another," he sighed, throwing open the door of the castle. Elspeth gasped, which was rather gratifying. As far as the eye could see, there were only thorns, thorns, and vicious thorns.


End file.
